


Daffodil

by earthseraph



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist!Dean, Cafe Owner!Castiel, DCBB 14, Fireman!Dean, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Mentioned Past Child Abuse, Temporary Amnesia, artist!castiel, mentioned Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A seed was planted eleven years ago during college orientation and a flower was bloomed a few months after in a crowded library. Skip ahead four years and said flower wilted but was holding on by it's last root with the ghost of a muse. Now seven years later, in a small coffee shop the flower's budding again. </p><p>This is the start of a new beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1:Enter Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my awesome artist: [Nerime](http://nerime.tumblr.com/)!!!!!
> 
> (the images aren't working and i'm at schools so they'll be fixed later!)

Castiel sighed and tied the apron around his waist, fingers fumbling with the bunny-eared knot before he got it to hang properly. He flattened the green apron down his chest and lap before moving to the front door. 

He flipped over the wooden block hanging on the door that had a slanted scrawl of ‘Open’ and flicked on the neon light that hung in the side window. Castiel made quick work of unlocking the doors and propping one open with a heavy cinder block to let the sweet morning air of May drift in. He looked down at his worn leather wrist watch and nodded to himself. The sun was already rising in the sky and soon the rush of early-shift business workers, students and pedestrians would stroll in. He knew the two morning employees would probably be late because they were savoring the long summer vacation they had off of college, so he went into the back of the shop and finished pulling things out himself. 

Already the pastry cabinet was filled with the small breakfast items. Apple and blueberry turnovers, whole wheat and sesame seed bagels, muffins of many flavors, little scones and crumpets, and his customer favorite: Bacon and egg sandwiches with a little bit of mayo covering the top for extra flavor. The coffee and tea kettles were all warm, ready to be put to their daily use, to fill the empty cups and the stomachs of underpaid and overworked beings. 

Castiel nodded knowingly when Meg came running in, her wavy hair bouncing as she stuttered her way through apologies as to why she was late and how she got too caught up in some show on Netflix and over slept.

“It’s fine, Meg.” Castiel said, holding his hands up, “You were only a couple of minutes late and there’s nobody here yet, for that matter.” 

She nodded and let out a sigh through her red lips, “Thanks, I’ll go work in the back for now.”

He watched her round the counter and throw her bag in one of the little cubbies he had set up for the workers before pulling her hair up into a short ponytail. 

“Can you prep the flour and things for Gabriel?” he asked, still not used to bossing people around even after all these years owning the shop. 

Meg rolled her eyes and slipped the apron over her head as she walked through the swinging door, “You’re the boss, boss.” 

Castiel smiled gratefully at the door before turning back around to the counter.

Gabriel was their main baker (other than himself, of course) and had a preference when it came to the arrangement of his things. He liked the flour out and sifted, some of the more ‘normal’ spices to be around his work space, and somebody to keep him company because he evidently could not bake without someone to talk to. 

He’d prepare the area himself but knowing Gabriel, he would be caught in the man’s web for the rest of the day and wouldn’t be able to tend to anything else. Of course he was Gabriel’s friend- Gabriel was one of his only friends, honestly- but he couldn’t leave his shop behind for some grapevine gossip. 

Castiel smiled when he saw Joshua walking in, shoes scuffing against the floor and a small pot of yellow flowers his his hands.

“Good morning, Castiel.” Joshua said, standing in front of the counter.

“Good morning, Joshua,” Castiel greeted, mirroring Joshua’s smile. ”The usual?”

Joshua nodded and pulled out his wallet while still clutching the pot of flowers in his other hand.

Castiel walked over to the microwave and pushed the button to pop it open, a steaming cup of walnut coffee was waiting for its owner. He knew Joshua would be making his daily round to the coffee shop and made it beforehand; placing it in the microwave when he was done so it wouldn’t go cold. He pulled the warm cup out and closed the microwave before going back to where the gardener was standing. He handed him the cup and opened the register to place the man’s money in. 

Castiel let his eyes drift over to the potted flower that rested on the counter in front of Joshua after they exchanged some small talk about the weather, “What's the story behind these?”, Castiel asked because there's always some sort of story behind each plant Joshua brings in. 

“Daffodils,” Joshua started, smiling at the pot, “the flower of new beginnings and rebirth.” He continued, his voice strong with wisdom.

“And why did you bring these today? It’s usually a succulent- not that I mind or anything.” Castiel handed the man his change and tried to stop his eyebrow from twitching when a breeze flowed through the open door. 

Joshua sipped at his coffee before setting it down, “You’ll be experiencing something from the past soon, Castiel.” He picked up his cup and patted Castiel’s hand twice, giving him a small smile with the raise of his cup before leaving the shop, humming an unknown tune, and leaving the potted flower behind.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth a few times, stunned by the man’s ‘premonition’ and slightly worried, he looked down at the delicate flower. The natural lighting of the shop seeped through the petals that apparently meant so much in some cultures. 

He wasn’t sure if he believed what Joshua said, if he believed that a flower meant something from his past was coming forth. Castiel, honestly, didn’t even know Joshua on a personal basis- just how the man liked his coffee and that he was a gardener. For all he knew Joshua was a deranged old man who read too much into flowers. 

Castiel gave the pot one last glare before picking it up. The terracotta was cool against his hands, the flower smelled nice and fresh, like Persephone walked up to him and blew lightly at his face. 

He pulled himself away from the flower and looked around at the tables. Castiel decided on the table in the corner of the dining area to set the flower. There were large windows on either side of the corner that allowed the perfect amount of light to shine on the flower and whomever decided the table was for them. 

Castiel walked over to the table and placed the pot down, letting his fingers drift across the downy petals. He stayed there a moment, his eyes lingering on the flowers, before going back to the counter and wiping it down before the morning rush stampeded in. 

The thought of opening a coffee shop never crossed Castiel’s mind. He thought he’d go on to being some amazing artist with galleries and pieces all over the world. That his name would be a hit with the big leagues or that at least he’d die trying. 

But he lost his muse. It died along with his spirit. 

He was a lifeless being for the last few months of college. He’d go to the necessary classes, try in the rest of them, and went through his own Blue Period. His portfolio was once filled with bright paintings and sketches, full of one man and nothing else. But when he left his muse his paintings lost their figures. The paintings were filled with thick strokes of heavy paint in heartbreaking blues and weeping greens. The brush wasn’t held with care anymore- no, it was lifelessly stabbed into the dollop of paint and then placed on the cheap canvas like a murderer carving into their victim. 

Even the canvases themselves weren’t taken care of anymore. His old easel was in broken chunks of splintered and rotten wood. The engravings of names and little Sharpie drawings broken and disposed like a forgotten memory. 

_”I made this for you!” He smiled, cheeks flushed with a pretty pink and lips upturned in a shy smile._

_Standing tall in the corner of their shared apartment was a simple easel. The wood was shiny and new, almost pristine if not for the chunk missing by the canvas holder. Castiel walked over to it, his fingers slowly stretching out to drift across the lacquered wood and nose picking up the homey scent of the workshop. Castiel was speechless. He needed a new easel for the longest time and this one was hand made. It was better than the hundred dollar ones at the local art store and would probably last him a lifetime._

_“It’s perfect.” Castiel sighed, trying to clear away the break in his throat, “Thank you.”_

_Dean let out a flustered sound and shrugged, “No biggie. It’s for you anyway and I’d do anything for you.”_

_Castiel tried to push away a bitter thought of ‘no you wouldn’t’ from his head before speaking again. He cleared his throat once more and stretched his hand out to Dean, “Come and help me set up; I want to paint you.” He smiled at Dean again when the man took his hand and pulled him closer to where their foreheads were touching, “Seriously, Dean. Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you to do things like this.”_

_“It’s ‘cause I love you,” he said, his voice lower than a whisper._

_“Always?” Castiel asked, lips brushing over Dean’s._

_“Always.”_

* * *

Castiel let out a small puff of a sigh and leaned forward on the counter, he felt burning behind his eyes and a yawn wanting to bubble up from his chest, he was tired. In reality he could take a break from work for a while because the morning rush was over and all his employees were clocked in. He looked up at the clock on the wall then down to the door; a rest sounded nice. 

"Kevin," he called to the back, "take care of the front for me. I'll be upstairs if you need anything." He waited until Kevin came out, flour on the teen's apron, before he started making his way to the door that led to the stairs. 

"No problem, boss." 

Castiel gave him a grateful nod and undid his apron. He haphazardly tossed it on the small rack before pushing his way up the stairs. 

Above the shop there was a small apartment. 

The building came that way, a floor for business and another floor for the workers to sleep in. The realtor told him that the building was made in the 40s. Equipt for a diner and sleeping quarters on top so the employees could rest without having to make their way back home after long shifts. 

Overall the apartment was pretty small with a single bedroom, single bath, an open floor plan that included the dining room, the kitchen and the living room. The ceilings, though, were tall with large, airy windows filling up most of the space on the walls. Even though there wasn’t a lot of room, it fit his needs. Bookshelves, ottomans with stowaways inside them, and small tables lined wherever they could fit in. He could tell where they changed the dated floor plan to have more of a modern look but all in all it was good enough for him. The small space gave him everything he needed when he wasn’t working or when he just needed a little time to himself. 

Castiel slipped off his shoes and stretched his body. He heard the popping of his bones when he rose his arms above his head, the youth he once had gone with the time. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore with dreams and ambitions to achieve when he got out of college. He was thirty now, with a coffee shop and an established feeling of loneliness in his heart and apartment. One side of the bed always cool, only his pair of shoes waiting by the door and nobody to greet him with a peck on the cheek when he came home from a hard day.

Not anymore at least.

He remembered the bittersweet memories of having a lover. A man that he came home to after classes with a sore back and tired eyes. The man that would rub the soreness out of his back with warm, square hands and soothed him with a damp washcloth to his face, rubbing little flecks and lines of paint off his skin and then pressing his lips to where the rough towel just was. 

But now’s not the time to be thinking such thoughts. The past was the past and Castiel couldn’t let himself fall into the slump of sadness- he couldn’t revert to the poison that he let himself occasionally fall into time after time. He had to get the thought of bright smiles and green eyes out of his head because they didn’t belong there. Maybe when he was young and stupid and thought he was in love- yes. But now that he’s aged and knows what way he should be treated- no. 

Castiel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, pressure feeling nice against his stinging eyes, before dropping them to the side. He sighed through pursed lips and walked the short sum of steps to his easel so he could slide himself onto his worn stool. His knees awkwardly knocked against the easel as he adjusted himself; butt already throbbing from the stool’s metal seat.

He pulled his brush out of the small glass of turpentine and dabbed it against the paint littered rag next to it before setting the brush down Castiel pulled out his pallet and unzipped the plastic bag covering it. He wiggled his fingers in the damp bag, turning his head away from the musty smell of days old paint and water.

 

Castiel propped the palette against the muted blue background of his painting and dipped his brush into an airy yellow. He didn’t have a muse or reason to paint anymore, he just did it. He needed a release and paint to a blank canvas was his way of getting that. As much as he wanted to get his name back out into the world, get some buyers to call in for a commission or even get a piece or two into a small gallery and have the chance to show off what he can do. 

What he _could_ do. 

Castiel pressed the brush roughly onto the canvas, the bristles making a sound in protest and the yellow paint sliding out from the curved line he had just painted. 

What would have happened if he stayed? If he never lost his muse and kept painting like he used to, with beautiful lines and bright colors. Nothing muddy and muted like they were now.

Castiel put the paint brush down and stared at the canvas, it was seven years ago. He should be over it. 

But he’s not. And probably won’t ever be. 

It’s like a chronic pain. Nobody can see it or smell it, but it’s there. Nagging and pushing, whether it’s in the back of his mind or upfront before his eyes. 

And it won’t go away.

The memories, the emotions. The little scrape of love that he knows is still there but doesn’t want to admit it because if he does then it’s true and he’ll have to deal with it. 

Castiel shook his head, like if he moved his it like an Etch-A-Sketch then he could erase the lines that were once there. He picked up the brush and placed it back into the turpentine, watching the yellow paint cloud off and mix with the thick gel. He looked back up at the canvas, lightly touching his fingers against the wet paint and shivering when the cool temperature contrasted with his heated skin. Castiel looked at his fingertips, the yellow bright against his pale skin. He averted his eyes away from the paint and rubbed his fingers on the dirty cloth. He tossed the rag on the easel and got up from the stool turning his back to the painting and looking at the room in front of him instead. 

There wasn’t anything to clean, no pressing matters to attend at the moment and he wasn’t tired. He looked at the clock on the wall and almost gasped, around two hours had passed from leaving the shop. Two hours passed and all the did was make a curve of yellow on blue and fill his mind with an unknown amount of thoughts. 

Castiel never really went down to the shop during the lazy beginnings of lunch-hour; but he felt a pull in his gut that told him there was something down there that he needed to see or needed to fix. It was like a gravitational pull in his belly- pulling, tugging and lurching him until he slid his feet across the glossy floor of his apartment and went to slip on his shoes. He hesitated when putting on his second shoe, slightly worried that maybe the feeling was something negative. But he shook his head, ignoring the feeling in his gut for slipping on the shoe and opening his front door. 

He turned back to his little sanctuary, giving it one long look, like when he closed the door everything was going to be different. He didn’t know what pushed him to do it- but he stared at the yellow curl on the canvas and cracked a small smile.

He smiled because that curl on the canvas may be all he could do now but he had a feeling that he’d be able to do better later.


	2. Act 2:Enter Dean

Castiel didn’t know why his gut told him to go back down to the cafe. Everything was fine, patrons eating, softly talking, or doing random things with their time off. Employees milled around the front and back of the cafe. Some making pastries or sandwiches for later, while others cleaned up dishes and dusted crumbs from tables.

He himself was cleaning, sweeping the small nooks that he found slightly dirty from the morning rush. He had his back to the door, only listening for the small ‘ding’ of the bell to tell him a customer had walked in. 

He swept for a while longer. The broom moving back and forth, calming himself as he moved the dirt from side to side before into the dustpan. 

Castiel perked up when heard the quiet ‘ding’ of the bell and welcoming voice of one of his employees inviting the newcomer in. He smiled down at the broom at how well mannered his employees became; asking how the customer was before asking what they wanted to order. He turned to go dump the dirt in a wastebin when he heard the familiar southern twang that sounded like the man shot back whiskey on daily basis. 

“Yeah, can I have a- uh... apple turnover and a sweet tea?”

_”Holy shit- Cas, this is amazing!”_

_Castiel blushed and slid the rest of the pastries on to the napkins that were layered on the plate._

_“They’re not that great, Dean.” He took a little piece of the turnover from Dean’s plate and popped it into his mouth, chewing quickly so the melted peaches wouldn’t burn and numb his tongue._

_Dean groaned loudly and licked his fingers, “These are fucking amazing, Cas. You should make them more often.”_

_Castiel chuckled and pecked Dean on the lips. He could taste the sticky peaches and cinnamon from the pastry that Dean devoured, and licked his own lips off happily, “Yeah? You’d eat them if I made different flavors?”_

_Castiel was on somewhat of a baking kick, he made cookies, muffins and his latest hit was apparently the peach turnovers._

_“Cas, I’d get so fat-” Dean blew up his cheeks and pushed his arms out to the side like parenthesis, “- if you made different flavors.”_

_Castiel laughed and rolled his eyes, “Well it’s a good thing i’m not picky on what type of body I like, huh?” Castiel smirked as Dean ignored the the quip to his body and went about chewing on another turnover. Castiel moved closer to Dean on the counter and poked his barely-there belly, “I’ll always love your cute little pudge, Dean.”_

_Dean grunted and pulled his shirt down, “Shush.”_

_“But it’s true. Even when I make you all plump and jiggly because you ate all my sweets I’ll still love you.” Castiel nuzzled the sensitive area under Dean’s ear and nipped at the lobe, he smiled at the small shiver that rolled across Dean like a wave and growled, “I’ll love you more if you stop eating right now and ravish me in the bedroom instead.”_

_The rest of the turnovers were cold by the time they went back and ate more._

Castiel felt his heart skip a beat. He gasped and turned over his shoulder to look at the man he once intimately knew.

Sure enough, there was Dean. 

He stood with his hands on his hips, navy blue pants tucked into heavy duty boots, a white shirt stretched tight across his back with HOUSE #18 in bold white letters. His skin was darker than it was years ago, little scrapes and bruises adorning his arms like they were painted on him and left to dry. His hair was a bit longer and messier- but a rugged model kind of messy. 

Castiel couldn’t see his face because of the way he was standing- and he didn’t want to either. His heart thundered hard against his chest, pulsing like he ran a mile and only just stopped for air. He knew if he went up to Dean and talked the man now, he’d say something stupid- like ‘I still love you, always.’ He can’t do that to himself. Not now, not ever. He can’t go up to Dean and see how age has made him more beautiful, how time has progressed the looks that he’s always had. If he saw his face he knew he’d break. 

Castiel hurriedly swept the dirt he collected onto the pan and slid it into the wastebin closest to himself. 

He thought about going and hiding in the bathroom but figured he’d get himself stuck in a stall if Dean came in. He cursed himself for making the counter have only one entrance- which was on the other side of Dean- and not made it two like the designer had originally told him to. He gave the back of Dean’s head a half glare-half- _I miss you_ and rounded the table to get across the room, to the counter. 

He looked in every direction other than Dean’s and pushed the waist door open to get through. He set the broom down and suck a deep breath in. He was a dignified man. He was going to be able to get through and walk straight up to his apartment and forget that Dean was ever here because if Dean didn’t see him then it wasn’t real.

Yes.

Castiel tried to walk as fast as he could without breaking out into a run but apparently the universe wasn’t on his side. 

“Cas?”

Castiel froze and closed his eyes when his name was uttered from Dean’s mouth. It sounded like home, like warmth and ice all in one blow.

_”I can’t do this.”_

He could hear the age in his voice, the wisdom he grew in the long years. 

_”Don’t do this to me, babe.”_

He could hear the breathy way his name used to be said. 

_”If you can’t love what we are then.. then you don’t love me.”_

He could hear everything he’s missed. 

_”No- Cas, I need you.”_

“Cas, is that you?”

_”Goodbye, Dean.”_

Castiel turned to Dean and kept his eyes on the grey faux-concrete floor. He took a moment to gather his bearings before looking up into those green eyes.

He pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking, “No, it’s not.”

Dean frowned, “Cas, your name tag says your name.”

“Yes. And it’s not ‘Cas’ to you anymore. ‘Cas’ is only for my friends. Goodbye, Dean.”

Castiel ignored the taken aback look that plastered Dean’s face and walked to the stairs. When he was out of eyesight he slumped against the wall and let out a breath, _shit_.

* * *

Castiel didn’t know what to do. All he could do was sit on his sofa and stare out the window. 

He knew Dean was probably still downstairs in the cafe taking in everything he said because that’s just how Dean was. He’d analyze everything with a particular mood that would make everything Dean’s own fault even when it wasn’t.

But this time it was.

Right?

It was everything Dean did and _couldn’t_ do that made their relationship end in ‘goodbyes’ and ‘never agains’. 

After Dean, Castiel swore to never date someone like him ever again. No pretty boy jocks, no closeted men, no men that liked Led Zeppelin and cleaning their cars on lazy Sunday mornings. None of that ever again. And he kept to that. 

He didn’t date, just kept himself focused on the cafe and reconnecting with Anna and Gabriel. He lived his life of solitude and was okay with that. He was always okay with being alone. Having someone to be with romantically or sexually wasn’t something that he needed or craved like others did. Mostly because he didn’t think anyone could be The One for him but also because he came to the conclusion in his teenage years that he was somewhere on the line between asexual and demisexual. So having someone in bed next to him was something just he didn’t need or _want_. 

And then Dean strolled into his life and he wanted, craved, _needed_. 

It wasn’t that he had some epiphany, no, Dean was just the right person for him. The selfless man that gave him all the time of day and night like he was the sun and moon. The man who lost his mother to a hard battle of cancer, raised his brother and tried not to care about his father or what the man did to them. He was the man who had scars and demons but never showed them because he didn’t want to feel weak and fragile; he just wanted to keep up a facade of strength and stoic-ness. Dean was the kind of person that put his own problems on the back burner so he could take care of the problems of others.

He was like home and Castiel hated that. 

He didn’t want to have the empty, Dean shaped hole in his heart because he knew that Dean was home and that Dean was the man that made him happiest- even after all these years. He didn’t want that because he knew that Dean didn’t want them. He didn’t want to accept what they were. 

He didn’t want to accept them as a whole.

* * *

Castiel sat that night on his couch staring out the open windows. He could see the city line from where he sat. The light of all the buildings rising to the sky like they were trying to become stars and paint the sky. If there was any other reason besides his cafe downstairs that he loved where he lived- this was it. 

He could see the buildings, tall and short, the bustle of some vehicles here and there, and the deep purple sky. The only down side he saw was that he couldn’t see the stars. If he wanted to see the stars then he had to drive out to the countryside and wait for day to turn to night so he could lay on the hood of his car and watch the sky light up with little space gems. 

_”You see that one there?”_

_Castiel tried to follow the length of Dean’s arm and finger to the sky. He squinted his eyes and looked at the billions of little gems above him- trying to find just where Dean was pointing his sight to._

_“No.” Castiel pouted. He didn’t know what Dean could see in the sky. He couldn’t see the specific little dot that Dean was trying to point him to._

_Dean grunted and leaned in closer to Castiel, their sides warm and touching, he grabbed Castiel’s hand that was laying in the grass and tried to point the cluster out, “That one riiiight there.”_

_Castiel looked further into the deep night. Straining his eyes to find and see, but not being able to do either. Castiel huffed, his breath coming out white in the December air and slightly clouding his vision. He leaned up on his free elbow and moved further into Dean so he was just about laying on the other man’s chest._

_“Just tell me what you’re seeing and I’ll close my eyes and try to see it too.” Castiel closed his eyes and fully settled himself on Dean’s chest, humming when Dean dropped his hand and wrapped his around Castiel instead._

_Dean chuckled quietly and cleared his throat, “Okay, imagine five stars. One is at the top, far away from all the others but still connected to the rest of the constellation. Now not directly down but a little to the right is another star, then across and a little bit up one more, go down again like the second and there’s another, and finally up but at more of a fortyfive degree is the last one. All these stars make my favorite constellation- Cassiopeia.” Dean stayed quiet for a bit, letting Castiel take in the image before whispering, “Do you want to know one of the reasons that it’s my favorite?”_

_Castiel opened his eyes and looked up at Dean. From the angle he was at all he could see was the stubbly bottom of Dean’s chin, he butted it with his head lightly, “Why?”_

_Dean laid his hand on top of Castiel’s and sighed, “Because it has a part of your name in it.”_

Castiel looked down at his phone. The screen was black and waiting for him to do something with it. He tapped his nails on the screen and bit his lip. There was one person that he could call and vent all the events of the day to. He could call this person and try to make sense of everything. 

How he felt. 

How he _does_ feel. 

Castiel pressed the one button on his phone and watched the screen light up with the standard blue background and the time, he swiped his finger across the screen and went into the contacts app. Castiel hesitated before pressing the pad of his finger to the contact name. He didn't know what time it was in California- but he figured that his friend wouldn't mind. 

The line rang a few times before the click of the call being picked up sounded though his ears, 

"Cas?"

Castiel smiled at the familiar voice, "Hello, Sam." 

The line fuzzed over with movement, "What's up?" 

Castiel hesitated. He knew that Sam would figure out right away that he was trying to distract himself or that he was covering something up. He just didn't know how to say what he was feeling- partly because he didn't know how he was feeling. It was just stupid emotions that he should be long over because he was the one that broke off the relationship and he was the one that blew Dean off down at the cafe. It was all him. But he couldn't get over it, "I- I saw Dean today."

Sam was silent for a moment, "I know." 

"You know?" 

Sam coughed, "He uh- he called me a while ago." 

Castiel didn't know what to say. He figured Dean would just move on and ignore the whole situation like he did with their sexuality. He figured that he was just another person from college that Dean saw throughout his life. 

Sam cleared his throat, "He's changed, you know." 

"Changed?" 

He could hear Sam nod, "Yeah. He's different from how he was in college." 

Castiel frowned and wrinkled his eyebrows. He remembered Dean in college. He was everything Castiel could want but it was only due to missing the confidence to come out of the metaphorical closet that he didn't want. "How is he different?" 

From all the conversations that he and Sam had- Dean had never come up. It was an unspoken rule to not speak of Dean and not mention anything he was doing. The same rule applied to Sam never telling Dean that they were still in contact. Sam and Castiel had become fast friends when Dean introduced them. 

_"Sam, this is my-uh, friend, Cas-uh Castiel."_

_Castiel slightly flinched at the word 'friend' but ignored it for shaking Dean's younger brother's hand. The younger Winchester was lanky and slightly awkward at his age. He had bright brown eyes and hair that shaped to his face like a bowl. He had a wide toothy smile and fingers that were twitching like he wanted to go run up and down the parking lot but at the same time shake Castiel's hand._

_Castiel made the first move and stuck out his hand, "Hello, Sam."_

_Sam smiled even more and eagerly shook Cas' hand, "Hi, Castiel. Wait, can I call you Cas? Is that okay?"_

_Castiel smiled, he definitely liked Sam Winchester, "That's perfectly fine."_

Sam sighed, “He’s- he’s out, you know? He came out after you left him and tried so hard to get ahold of you, remember? He’d call you nonstop, try and see if you had any galleries. He’s better with not throwing himself in situations that would turn out bad and he’s not as angry at the world like he was.”

Castiel opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to process the information, “You never told me that he was out, Sam.” 

Castiel didn’t know what he’d have done if he knew Dean was out back then. How different his life would be- if they’d still be together. He didn’t know. And what Sam just told him made everything different. 

“I’m sorry.” Sam said, the other side of the line sounding eerily quiet, “He tried hard to find you, and you know he did.” Castiel could hear the raise in Sam’s voice where he was trying to defend himself and wondered if that happened when Sam was on a case in court. “I never told him that I was still in contact with you because then he’d have gotten mad- and I figured you just needed space and then would go back to him.” Sam paused and Castiel assumed he was licking his lips by the quiet smack that traveled through the line, “But.. it’s been what- seven years? You had so much, and still do have so much, pent up rage for how Dean made you feel in public and I thought telling you would be like a slap in your face.” Sam trailed off and picked back up with a quieter voice, “I figured that you didn’t want to know. That you could move on- and that he could too... But, when he called me a while ago” Castiel could hear Sam shaking his head by the muffled movement on the other side of the line, ”...he sounded so broken. 

"He said something that you think you and he aren’t friends and that he knew he messed up back then but now he’s different. He sounded like he does when mom’s anniversary rolls around. And-” Sam paused before making a pained sound, “-and I think he’s in love with you.”

“What?” Castiel sat up from his slumped state and held the phone closer to his ear. “You cannot possibly know that, Samuel Winchester.”

“I can because he’s my brother and he and I can read each other better than anyone can. So I’m pretty sure that I can tell by his broken voice and deep sighs and the way he still talks about you- even before today- that he’s still into you. And I know that you’re still into him. Or should I say in love?” 

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed, he cleared his throat and whispered, “How can you even know that?”

“Because you’re my best friend and I know you.”

He listened to the fuzz of the line and leaned his head back against the couch, nose still pinched, “I can’t ruin his or my life anymore than I already have. I can’t go back and love someone that might not love me the same way.”

“So you’re afraid?”

"I’m not-” Castiel huffed, “-I’m not afraid. I’m just choosing a path that won’t get me hurt anymore.”

“And deciding Dean’s life in the process too,” Sam added, his voice coming out sharper and accusing. 

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, not having anything to say. He knew what Sam was telling him was true. He knew that it was the fear of everything happening all over again and that he couldn’t deal with it if it did. He wasn’t a pushover and wasn’t about to go back into Dean’s arms willingly just because time changed him, he wasn’t. 

“I’m not deciding anything for anyone.. If Dean is really still wanting to be my significant other then he will do it on his own and be the one to ask me out. I won’t put myself through rejection because of something you think and I won’t give myself to Dean after everything he did and didn’t do.”

Sam was quiet for a moment before speaking, “Okay. I can respect that.”

“And I’m not talking to him right away either- he deserves to suffer a bit.”

Sam chuckled lightly and broke into a yawn, “Alright, Cas. It’s about to be nine over here and I need to sleep. But tell me how it goes, alright?”

Castiel nodded, “Alright, Sam.”

They said their ‘goodnights’ before the line went dead and Castiel let out a large sigh, why was his college life haunting him? He thought after he graduated he had left that all behind and it was something never to be seen again. But apparently that’s not how things work. He got up from the couch and stood in front of his canvas. He rested his fingers atop the dried paint and sighed. 

Either things were going to be made right or they were going to go horribly wrong.

* * *

Castiel woke up to the early morning blues and purples filling his bedroom. He laid there a moment and thought about how dreamlike yesterday felt. How if he burrowed back into his covers and close his eyes he could pretend it wasn't real. But he couldn't do that- he had to accept reality. He needed to get up from his bed and face the day. 

But today meant that Dean could possibly walk in the shop door and light up the room with his smile, or it meant that Dean would never walk though his doors again and he'd have to start a fire so that they could have some communication. 

He sort of hoped for the former. The fire would mean that his insurance would go up and New York was already expensive as it is. 

Castiel went with his normal routine. Getting dressed, hygiene, eating something small and then going downstairs to open up shop. He tried to ignore the fact that he put his best pair of working pants on or that he actually tried to tame the mop he called hair. He wasn’t fixing himself up for any green eyed man that he once laid with. No. He had more dignity than to do something of that sort. _Liar, liar, pants on fire Castiel._

Shut up.

Castiel milled around the cafe. Cleaning up, letting other employees take the orders sometimes, making drinks, restocking- anything to take his mind off the fact that he might get to see Dean again and that they’d probably talk again, too. He wasn’t about to revert how a teen with a crush acted. He was thirty, not sixteen. 

By the time one o’clock came around he was bored out of his mind. Nothing more than his usual customers and a handful of new ones came in. Ordering mundane things that he didn’t feel like mixing but did anyway because it was his job, not bringing in new conversation except for Joshua talking about how beautiful the daffodil looked in the corner and how he should be expecting good tidings soon. Very cryptic but the usual from Joshua. 

Other than cryptic messages relating to a potted flower- nothing happened. 

Until Dean strolled in, that was. 

Castiel was behind the counter when Dean made his appearance for the day. He was handing a customer their tea with a polite smile when he heard the familiar sound of boots clunking against the floor. 

Castiel willed himself not to look up, to ignore all his instincts and continue with the customer that was currently walking away with their drink. He inwardly frowned at the young woman for leaving him with nothing to do but tend to Dean and looked up when he heard the man himself clear his throat. 

“Long time no see.” Dean grinned, crooked and all too familiar. 

Castiel rolled his lips between his teeth and waited for Dean to give him his order. As much as Castiel wanted to talk to Dean, he wanted to _not_ talk to Dean just as much. He wanted the man to suffer ever so slightly. He wanted Dean to believe that Castiel was going to ignore and never talk him again in his life. He wanted to feel the all too familiar pang unwantedness in the base of his belly because that’s how Castiel felt every time he was _’just a friend’_ and every time Dean would have to make up some chick to explain for the hickey on his throat when Castile used to get too into making out. Castiel wanted Dean to feel that. 

He wanted him to feel that and more pain than he could ever give to the man. 

Dean’s grin faltered and he cleared his throat, “You still ain't talking to me, Cas?”

“Castiel,” he corrected, “order or leave.”

Dean snorted, “Good thing it’s against the law or some shit to turn away a paying customer.” He hummed under his breath and looked at the menu. “Water and a blueberry muffin.”

_”Blueberry’s always been my favorite," Castiel commented, little bits of his muffin falling from his mouth as he spoke._

_Dean shook his head and raised a small muffin above his head, fingertips holding the muffin from its wrapped base, “Lemon. This shit is the best thing ever. No argument.”_

_Castiel gawked and swallowed his muffin bit, “I beg to differ.” He ripped a piece of his muffin off and waited until Dean opened his mouth to reply before popping the bit in with no explanation except for a pointed stare. He watched Dean chew the bread before shrugging with one shoulder._

_“It’s not half bad- not like that sesame seed abomination.”_

_“But it’s not your favorite?”_

_“Nope,” Dean grunted, “the only time I myself will buy one is if it’s for you.”_

Castiel rang up the items and took the outstretched money. He slipped the money in the register and handed back the change before grabbing both things from their assigned spots and placing them on the counter. 

He slid the food across and gave Dean a polite smile. 

Dean took the water and pushed the muffin back, “That’s for you.”

Castiel frowned, “Why?” 

“Cause I don’t like blueberry and it got you to talk to me right?”

Castiel made a face and tried to hold the eye roll when Dean started moving like an excited puppy, “I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Yeah, ya’ do,” Dean singsonged. 

Castiel shook his head. He didn’t dare open his mouth because if he did that constituted as talking in Dean Terms and he was not about to let the other man win. 

Dean smiled, soft and reminiscent, “You’re just like how I first met you, man.”

_Castiel pushed his reading glasses up his nose and tried to ignore all the sounds in the room._

_Evidently people don’t understand that libraries are supposed to be quite- minimal talking with minimal noise. He figured a library filled with college students would give him that peace and quiet, the sound of pages turning and people scribbling down what they needed to keep in their head for the class. Not the table two down from his with a group of loud idiots who couldn’t see that they were in the library and not the cafeteria._

_With a frustrated sigh Castiel pressed his pen down to the legal pad beside his textbook and tried to get his project done._

_The teacher had assigned them a three page essay of how ‘The Raft of The Medusa’ and ‘Liberty Leading the People’ were related. So far Castiel had all the points he was going to write about down and nothing more. The problem was that this essay was to be done with a partner as a ‘growing activity’ for the class to get to know each other- and his partner was sitting with the loud group of idiots two tables down. He knew that he needed to get his partner to work on the project with him, but going over to a table full of Alpha students flared his anxiety to a point that his doctor would tell him to take a step back and think about what he was doing._

_So instead of taking a step back (or forward for that matter) and trying to do something about the situation he stayed sitting in the plush arm chair that took home nestled between the two legs of the wooden table. He didn’t look over at the idiots sitting the table over, he instead focused himself on the holy trinity: Life, the almost dead, and death. He kept his mind on how The Raft of The Medusa and Liberty Leading the People were similar even though both paintings told completely different stories._

_Castiel got about five paragraphs down on the legal pad when he heard the chair in front of being pulled out and a body settling itself in it. He expected Gabriel or Hannah- both of them bugging him about classes and how much they hated their professors- but when he looked up one Dean Winchester was sitting in front of him with a crooked smile and stupidly green eyes._

_One Dean Winchester that was supposed to be his partner._

_“Hey.” Dean said, still having the same crooked smile plastered on his lips._

_Castiel hummed in reply and kept his eyes on his paper._

_Dean put his hand over the textbook, effectively covering Castiel’s research, “You gotta’ talk to me, man. We’re partners.”_

_Castiel licked his lips and pushed his glasses up again- he needed new ones soon, “No I don’t.”_

_“Yeah you do,” Dean quipped back, “ if you don’t then we fail.”_

_“Quite the opposite actually. I can do the essay for both of us and save the stress on your poor little brain.” Castiel gave him a cold smile and pushed Dean’s hand off his book._

_“That’s not how this works- I’m gonna’ work on this paper whether you like it or not. Got it?”_

_Castiel looked up from his book again and leaned back in his chair, “You actually want to work, like no slacking off or making me write the whole paper?”_

_Dean rolled his eyes, “Why would I make you do the paper if it’s my grade too?”_

_Castiel paused. The only answer that came to him was that Dean looked like he was a jock on a scholarship and beat up nerdy people for a living. He actually didn’t know Dean at all. He just saw him around campus, in class and sometimes playing soccer in the quad’s courtyard. He knew that Dean was one with many friends but kept mostly to himself when it came to people out of his inner circle. He also knew that he himself harbored a small crush on the green eyed man but was never going to admit to that. So instead of spilling his guts he just shrugged and stared at a bookshelf behind Dean’s shoulder._

_“Well for your information, I am going to work on this shit. Now lemme’ see what you got.”_

_Castiel huffed and slid his pad across the table. He watched Dean skim through the points and the start of the essay._

_“This is good stuff, man.” Dean said, his eyes still on the pad, “I have some ideas that you haven’t got down yet. Wanna’ spend another hour or so here and then meet up around this time tomorrow?”_

_Castiel involuntarily pushed his reading glasses up and nodded, “Yes- okay. Do you maybe want to get lunch after?” He tried to hide his blush by pulling off the glasses and setting them down on the table, waiting for rejection._

_Dean smirked, “Hell yeah. I can never say no to food.” he winked, “‘sides, you look cute in those glasses.”_

Castiel pushed the muffin back, “I could say the same for you,” and walked away.

* * *

At first Castiel thought it would be a little game for Dean. He thought that maybe after a week or two Dean would give up the so called “Chase” and leave the cafe. He figured that Dean would get tired and stop trying to make conversation that Castiel just wasn’t okay with yet. 

But after three weeks Castiel knew that it wasn’t a game anymore. 

Three weeks of small conversation on Dean’s side and even smaller replies from Castiel. Of glances across the shop that they’d hold until someone called away their attention. Of countless cups of drinks and pastries and the occasional meal. Three weeks of Castiel trying not to give into the disappointed drop of Dean’s face that felt like a knife to the heart and of Castiel biting his lip so he wouldn’t say something stupid. 

Each day was different. Sometimes Dean would be alone, sometimes he’d bring in someone from the station like his best friend Charlie whom Castiel envied because she and Dean got to talk so easily without something mudding up the conversation. Some days he’d come in with a fresh burn or swipe of muck from a fire that Castiel wanted to clean up with a damp cloth and kiss the pain away like he used to when Dean would trip or accidentally nick himself with an Exacto-Knife. There was days when Dean would come in with a mood that brightened up the room, and others when Dean would throw up a fake smile that Castiel could see didn’t meet his eyes.

Every day was like the first time that he and Dean met and every day was harder and harder for Castiel to keep his grip on and not let it fly away because he couldn’t tolerate not talking to Dean like they used to.

* * *

It was Sunday now. Weeks after Dean first came into the shop and the first time in months that Castiel was closing the shop early in trade for a trip to the farmers market. 

Castiel grabbed his bundle of canvas bags off the counter and tucked his helmet between his arm and side. Driving a car in New York wasn’t a necessity; too many people walking through already congested streets and little to no parking depending where your destination was. So he never learned. 

Cars were complex machines that polluted the earth and made him feel too confined in. Sure he had to ride on the bus or subway when matters pressed him to do so, but riding in a car was something he despised as much as mosquito filled summers. To him the perfect way of transportation was by bike. He’s able to get from point a to point b faster than by foot but at the same time he’s able to feel the wind through his hair and the ruffle of it passing through his clothing. 

Castiel was in the process of locking up the shop when the rough sound of shoes on pavement and a familiar voice rang from behind him. 

“You’re closing up early today?”

Castiel finished with the lock and turned around. With no division of a counter between them Castiel was closer to Dean than he had been in seven years. He could see each little nick and scrape to his Adonis-like body. He could smell cheap soap and the musky oil from the station radiating off the other man’s body. And he felt like he could reach out and just _touch_. Touch the little scratch on his cheek, follow the curve of his jaw, sketch his lips with only fingers and swipe his thumb over the dark circles under the man’s eyes. But he couldn’t touch. Not because he wasn’t allowed to—Dean, by all means, would move into the touch—but because it would be unfair to the both of them. 

One touch could mean forgiveness and want. One touch could escalate to two and then the touches could be less innocent and more desperate. They could go from tracing the other man’s jaw to pulling the other man in and kissing the lips that Castiel’s missed for seven years. From kissing it could go to moving back into the shop and up the stairs which would inevitably lead to clothes being shed and miles of skin on miles of skin. To which they would be led to some flat surface and that could only lead to thrusting and the slick heat of their mouths on each other. 

Castiel cleared his throat and clutched his hands to his sides, helmet digging into his ribs, "Yes. It’s a lovely day and I’m in need of more supplies so the farmer’s market seemed like somewhere reasonable to go.”

Dean chuckled and dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “You drive or are you still riding your bike everywhere you can?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, “Bike, I don’t drive.”

Dean shrugged, “Just ‘cause you didn’t years ago don’t mean that you can’t now.”

“There’s no reason to drive in a city like this. It’s only a waste of space and hurts the planet more than it should.” Castiel puffed his chest out defensively. Arguing with Dean about the planet was an old one but one he will never give up. 

Dean rolled his eyes, “So you’re telling me that you’re gonna’ carry all that stuff you gotta’ buy in some ratty bags, by yourself on a bike that I’m pretty sure you’ve had before college?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“How ‘bout I take you?”

Castiel looked up at Dean and over his shoulder. Sure enough Dean’s prized possession sat parked on the curb and shone in the sunshine like the sun was her personal spot light. He looked back over to Dean and cocked his head, “Why?”

Dean nervously rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, “I mean she’s got a trunk you can put stuff in, I have all the arm muscle going to waste and I don’t want you to get smeared on the road because you were riding your bike on one of the hottest days of the year and had a heat stroke.”

“Don’t you have cats to save from trees?”

Dean snorted a laugh and shook his head, “No, cat saving is on Tuesdays... Please let me take you?”

Castiel crossed his arms and hugged his helmet to his chest, “I’m going to make you my personal servant.”

“Totally fine.”

“It’s going to take all day.” he challenged.

Dean shrugged, “I’m off today.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, “Fine. But because you’re taking me the next time you come in whatever you order is free of charge.”

“Like taking free food is a problem.”

Castiel followed Dean to his car and waited patiently for him to open the door. He pointedly ignored the hopeful look in the other man’s eye and the way he held the door open for him like it was their first date all over again. Castiel buckled himself in and tried not to hiss when the hot metal of the buckle touched the skin on his fingers. He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye and notices the way he happily rounded the car, how he threw himself in, and casually buckled his belt like there was no heat to the metal. 

Castiel felt so normal in the Impala. He felt as if they never broke up and were going on one of the weekend adventures across New York; finding some place they had yet to be at or just somewhere quiet where they could be themselves. He felt like sitting in the passenger seat was where he was supposed to be. Like the car was more than just a car but a home even though it had been years since he’d set foot in the beauty. 

He watched Dean stick the key in the ignition and the familiar croon of Led Zeppelin filled his ears

**This is the springtime of my loving - the second season I am to know  
You are the sunlight in my growing - so little warmth I've felt before.  
It isn't hard to feel me glowing - I watched the fire that grew so low. **

_”How do you not know who Led Zeppelin is!”_

_Castiel shrugged and pulled on the sleeves of the hoodie he stole from Dean, “I’ve never had a reason to listen to them. I grew up on gospel songs and hymns. Music such as yours was considered the devil's song and listening to it was a sin.”_

_“Well,” Dean took his hand, “you’re in college now and it’s time to educate you on the finer thing in life like Led Zeppelin, cheap beer and shower sex.”_

_Castiel rolled his eyes at the eyebrow wiggle Dean gave him, “Just let me listen to the song.”_

_Dean nodded and grinned, “Ramble On has to be my favorite, then Stairway to Heaven and then it has to be this song: The Rain Song.”_

**Talk Talk - I've felt the coldness of my winter**  
 **I never thought it would ever go. I cursed the gloom that set upon us...**  
 **But I know that I love you so**

**These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall  
This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold.  
This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall.**

* * *

The farmer's market was bustling with people by the time they got there. The tents with the merchants buzzed at the entrance and even getting a peak of a vegetable was something of a task. 

They walked around the market, mostly quiet and just taking in the scene in front of them, liking the presence of the other man and just enjoying each other. There was no malice or heartache because it felt like it did when they were young, stupid, and in love. If Castiel didn’t think about it he would believe that it was years ago and that they were dating. That he could just close the distance- the very short distance between them- and hold the other man’s hand. And by the way others looked at them people thought they were a couple too. 

By the time they were done all of Castiel’s bags were full and their feet were sore. Castiel made Dean sit down with him on a bench so they could rest their feet before walking back to Dean’s car. They were both quiet with only the sounds of their breathing filling the space between them.

In front of them the market was easing to a close. Merchants had already sold their produce and most of the people were gone with their goods. The sun was setting to a deep purple with stripes of pink clouds filling the sky like a painting instead of nature. Warm breaths of air drifted by making Castiel’s sweaty body cool down and feel grateful that there was something helping him not smell like he just ran a mile. 

Despite the breeze he could feel the heat of Dean’s hand next to his. Dean’s skin was like an inferno and all he wanted to do was touch it. All day he wanted to touch Dean, to have some contact with the other man. He craved the feel of Dean’s calloused skin on his; he wanted to feel the other man and for the other man to feel him. But the only touches he was granted were when they’d pass things to each other and their fingers would brush. It was too much and not enough at the same time. 

Castiel glanced at Dean’s hand and sighed all he wanted was a touch but even one graze of skin from Dean would be too much. 

“So do you talk to your family?”

Castiel looked up at Dean, “Kind of.”

_”Any family?”_

_Castiel sighed and threw back another shot, “Nope.”_

_“Oh, all dead?”_

_Castiel felt himself leaning more to one side and shook his head, his whole body going with it, “Nope, they’re alive.”_

_“Oh,” Dean sipped his beer, “why don’t you talk to them?”_

_Castiel laughed mirthlessly, “They don’t talk to me. Those insufferable people disowned me. Father tried to beat the ‘gay’ out of me and when that didn’t work they kicked me out telling me that if I didn’t find God then they didn’t want me.” He sprinkled some salt on his wrist and licked it off before taking a gulp of Dean’s beer, talking about his family pressed the need of alcohol, “When they saw my acceptance letter to NYU in art they freaked out. Telling me, yet again, that art is something the devil performs even though the church is filled with art.” Castiel shook his head and spat “Hypocrites. Before I was kicked out they liked to throw away or burn my sketchbooks. They didn’t particularly like that I drew more abstract things so when I’d go to the living room with my books they’d take them from me and toss them in the fireplace. Winters in Maine are cold; thus the fireplace.”_

_Castiel averted his eyes from Dean’s sympathetic glance, “I can see why you don’t want to come out.” he waved the shot glass he was now holding in the air, some of the tequila sloshing over the side, “Ruins things for you, makes your parents beat you, your siblings hate you and helps them when they try to explain how much of a screw up their son is.”_

_Dean placed his hand over Castiel’s, “I’d come out for you.”_

_Castiel shook his head, “Why would you make your life horrible for someone like me, Dean? I might look like I’m steady and strong but inside i’m just broken and there’s no way anyone can repair me...” he flipped his hand over and laced their fingers together, “Maybe you though.”_

“Oh, who?”

Castiel leaned back on the bench and fiddled with the fraying edge of his shirt, “Anna called me a couple years ago. She apologised for everything- not intervening with the” he waved his hand around in the air because even after all these years _abuse_ was a word he still couldn’t say, “and with treating me as they did.”

Dean nodded, staring at some far off patch of concrete, “That’s good.”

Castiel rolled his lips before licking them, “My mom died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

Castiel shook his head, “No it’s fine.. I didn’t- I didn’t.. they didn’t invite me to the funeral. It was years before Anna called me. I know my mom was horrible for what she did and let my father do- let everyone do- but she was my mother. She gave birth to me and I-” Castiel swallowed a lump in his throat and ignored the pricks in his eyes, “I never forgave her and she passed after a heart attack. She-She died probably not thinking I even existed.” Castiel stared down at his hands and rolled his lips between his teeth, having stopped therapy sessions years ago he hardly had anyone to talk to. Sure he had Sam, Gabriel, Anna and the occasional few he became friends with but he really had nobody that knew. Sam never knew about his past, Gabriel the same, and Anna turned a blind eye to it when it was happening. 

Castiel flinched away when a warm hand lightly cupped his face. He looked up at Dean and failed to not press his face into the warmth of Dean’s skin. He watched the way Dean looked at him. With more love than his family and with more care than he ever gave to himself. He felt his chest hiccup with an unleashed sob and further pressed his face into Dean’s hands. 

It had been so long since he was touched with this much love, so long since he had been looked at like the way Dean was looking at him and he couldn’t ignore it. He needed to let himself relish in what he was being given and in turn give it back. He rose his hand to Dean’s and rested it on top, warmth spread through his palm and even though it was hot and sticky outside he didn’t care. He just needed this right now. He needed to feel loved and cared for and Dean made him feel that way. Dean made him feel like he was more than just a man with a messy adolescence, a college degree and a coffee shop. He made him feel like he was worth something and like he mattered in people’s lives. 

Dean made him feel more than he had in a long time and right now one of the biggest feelings he had was _forgiveness_.

* * *

When they pulled up to Castiel’s shop the sky was already purple and the occasional star popped up around the moon. 

Together they pulled the things Castiel bought from the market out of the back seat and into the shop. Much to Dean’s protest Castiel told him just to leave the things on one of the tables and not to put it away in it’s designated area because with Castiel’s luck everything would end up in the wrong place and make the whole shop turn upside down. 

“Thank you," Castiel said, handing Dean a glass with ice water. 

Dean chugged back the glass and rose his eyebrow, “For?”

“For today.” _For taking me to the farmers market. For carrying things. For holding me while I cried and not saying anything about it._

“Oh,” Dean shrugged, “no problem.” 

Castiel walked up to Dean and took the empty glass from his hands and paused when one of Dean’s hands took his. He looked up at Dean and opened his mouth to ask what he was doing when Dean shook his head and shushed him. He could feel Dean lowering his lips to his and braced himself for a kiss. He wanted a kiss. He craved to feel Dean’s lips on his like he’d been craving for seven years. He wanted to ignore all the warnings flying up in his head telling him not to give into temptation like the bible told him to and to instead kiss Dean. He rose himself up on his toes- about to touch his lips to Dean’s when Dean’s phone went off. 

“Fuck.” Dean sighed and pulled his phone out, “What?”

Castiel listened to Dean’s side of a snipped conversation and waited expectantly when Dean hung up the phone. 

“Major fire, I gotta’ go in.”

Castiel nodded and touched Dean’s cheek with his hand, “Be careful.”

Dean gave him a half smirk and leaned into the hand, “Always am.”


	3. Act 3:Dean Alseep

The days seemed to pass longer than usual after he made his hypothesis as to why Dean wasn’t coming back to the coffee shop: If Dean Winchester hates Castiel Novak, then Dean Winchester won’t come back to the coffee shop. 

He tried to pass the time by making more pastries with his employees that looked at him as if he didn’t belong there. He tried to take over Meg’s shift at the register but all she did was push him up the stairs and told him to take a nap. He tried painting but only got as far as holding the brush before giving up. He tried everything. He even called Gabriel and Anna but both were busy with something or the other. In the end he gave up and threw himself on his couch like the pathetic soul he was. 

He stared out the window and into the pink and red clouds as he lay on his couch.

The sun was setting the sky into a pleasant pallette that he wanted to paint or let his fingers skim across. He wanted to feel the fluffy clouds on his fingers but at the same time make some of his own.

Castile could feel his eyelids start to weigh down and his head droop every now and again, so he closed his eyes and let his head loll back onto the arm of the couch, arms lax at his sides and legs stretched out under the coffee table. He dreamt of clouds.

* * *

Castiel jumped at the shrill noise coming from his side. Groggily he sat up and stretched his arms, ignoring his ringing phone and beating heart, his bones popped with age and his muscles strained where he hadn’t been running in over a week. 

The clouds weren't pink anymore. They were deep blues and purples, almost black if not for the city lights. He didn't know how long he slept for but he knew for sure it was more than an hour or two. 

Without looking at who was calling him at such an hour he answered the phone, “Hel-” he cleared the sleepiness out of his throat, “Hello?” 

“Cas?”

Castiel frowned at Sam’s slightly out of breath voice, “What’s wrong? What happened?” He sat up straighter on the couch and pressed the phone closer to his ear. 

“Uh... I don’t mean to be harsh but Dean’s in the hospital.”

Castiel felt his heart drop into his stomach. Dean’s hurt. Dean hadn’t come to the shop because the fire he promised to be careful through hurt him bad enough where he might be put in the hospital. Dean’s hurt and this whole time he was under the impression that Dean hated him. 

“What happened?” Castiel couldn’t stop the crack in his voice even if he tried. 

“I’d rather explain it in person if that’s okay with you.” Sam said, his voice now soft. 

“You’re in New York?”

Sam cleared his throat, “I’m Dean’s emergency contact and he- he can’t exactly do much at the moment. He’s been in the hospital for three days and he’s only been awake for about five minutes and only to tell me to call you.”

“He asked for me?” Castiel could feel pricks in his eyes. Dean was hurt to the point where he was in a coma. Medically induced or not, it meant he was in critical condition. 

Sam huffed a laugh, “He said to call you and tell you something about missing his chance. After that the doctors came running in trying to get him to stay awake but he just went back under like he was never awake.” Castiel could hear Sam holding back tears, “He’s hurt really bad, Cas. You should- you should come before it’s too late.”

Castiel felt hot tears fall from his eyes, “Sam, you believe that he’s not going to make it?” 

“I don’t—he’s really bad, Cas. ICU and everything. I just... I can’t tell myself he’s going to live when the doctors are telling me he’s deep in the forest.”

Castiel swallowed back the lump in his own throat, “Tell me where he is, please Sam.”

* * *

The ride to the hospital was a blur. A fast paced cycle on his bike to the subway and almost missing the subway to get to the hospital. He didn't remember any of the trip; it was like his feet knew where to take him while his brain processed the whole situation.

He couldn’t fathom the thought of losing Dean when he just got him back in his life. He couldn’t understand why God was so cruel to good people and he didn’t want to listen to the bigots that would probably say that it was in God’s plan. He just didn't understand.

* * *

Dean’s room wasn’t hard to find. He was the eighteenth room in intensive care and Sam was waiting outside the door like a guardian angel watching over his brother. 

Castiel hadn’t seen Sam in years, more than seven—maybe eight. The last time he saw him in person Sam was bright eyed and optimistic. He was giddy with pent up joy for college and ready for whatever the world threw at him- but he obviously wasn’t ready for this. Now Sam’s shoulders are slumped, eyes dull with emotion and fear for his brother’s life. The smile that he gave Cas wasn’t bright or puppy-like but forced and there for comfort more than will. 

Castiel stopped before Sam and looked at the room door, “How is he?”

Sam shook his head and sighed, “He’s alive... barely, but alive. He hasn't talked, moved, or done anything that could tell you he’s alive but he is.” Sam turned to Castiel. “After you hung up he seized for some reason that I don’t understand so they had to hook him up to some machines to regulate the breathing, feed him, and all that. It’s hard to look at.”

Castiel nodded and reached out to the door but was stopped by Sam’s hand. “Are you sure you’re ready to see him?”

“Of course... I—I need to see him, Sam.” Castiel gave Sam a grateful smile when he let go of the door handle and pushed open the door. 

Castiel felt like his breath was punched out of him at the sight of Dean. Once a strong and fearless man was now vulnerable and in need of all the help he could get. He had tubes connected to his nostrils and mouth, IVs in his arms, and his leg up in a cast. Underneath the sheets Castiel could tell Dean had something supporting him. He knew Dean’s body from each lump and muscle, and the incline in the sheets was not a part of Dean Winchester. He took a step forward to the bed, one hand over his mouth and the other reaching out to brush against a large bandage covering most of Dean’s cheek. 

Dean looked so broken and Castiel had never seen him like this before. Not in all the years they spent on their relationship, not before when they were just friends and not after when Castiel left him. All he’s ever seen is a Dean Winchester that was together in body and sometimes not in mind. This Dean Winchester he did not know. 

“The floor fell from beneath him,” Sam started, his hand resting reassuringly on Castiel’s shoulder. “They thought there was one more person in the apartment so Dean went up- and thank God there was nobody in the apartment- but then the floor fell from all the wear of the fire.” Sam sniffed and cleared his throat, obviously not ready to relive the thoughts over again in his mind, “They got him out quickly but the damage was already done. Broken leg, broken ribs, concussion, and a burned face from where the mask broke with the impact.”

Castiel felt hot tears spill from his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. Dean couldn’t be hurt. Even though Dean was right in front of him his Dean couldn’t be hurt. His Dean was never hurt. His Dean couldn’t die. 

“I— I— I can’t lose someone I just got back, Sam. I can’t lose him— not now, not again, not when I just got him back.” Castiel felt like someone ripped his soul out. He just got Dean back in his life and now he was going to be taken away by some sick act of whomever decided whose time it was to go. He didn’t understand why nothing could go the way it should- why he couldn’t just be happy. The thought of removing Dean from his life hurt him deeply and the thought of him dying hurt him even more. All he wanted was his happy ending with Dean. One where they lived and loved freely. One where they grew old and grey together. A life where everything worked out and where everything was okay. 

But life wasn’t fair and neither was death. Three days ago everything with Dean was lovely and beautiful. They had a nice time at the farmer's market, they talked like they were still in a relationship, they touched every now and then, and they almost kissed. They did all those things but none of that would matter if Dean wasn’t going to live. 

He still loved Dean and he knew that. He still loved Dean and he might not have the chance to ever tell him.

* * *

After Castiel gathered his bearings and pulled himself together he asked Sam for some time alone with Dean. He needed to talk to the man even in his unconscious state and try to gain closure for all the lost years that he’d never get back. 

He pulled one of the plastic chairs from the corner of the room to the side of Dean’s bed and sat quietly for a few moments. Just taking in everything before him that he’d never seen before- not even when they were dating. He didn’t know how he was supposed to act in this situation. Like a friend, like a lover, or like family? They all had different types of reactions and he didn’t know which he was. 

He knew he loved Dean as more than a friend and more than he ever would his family. He loves Dean as much as he loves to read in his spare time and as much as Dean used to love to make things out of wood. He loves Dean like the sun loves the blue sky and the stars to the dark night. He loves Dean like the moon to the waves and how they kiss the sand each time they push out. He loves Dean more than anything in the world and wished that he had a little more time a few days ago to kiss the green eyed man and let him know just how much. 

Castiel hesitantly reached forward on the bed and took Dean’s hand. He could feel the artificial warmth radiating through Dean’s calloused palms and sighed sadly at that. Dean used to be so warm. In college when they’d lay in bed together Dean felt like a furnace that warmed everything from his ears to his toes. The green eyed man wasn’t one that needed an excessive amount of clothing in the winter solely because of how warm he naturally was. Castiel always figured it was because his soul was so bright that it pushed through his body and to his skin. 

Castiel cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb across the thin skin of Dean’s hand, “Have I ever told you all the things that made me fall in love with you?”

He stayed silent for moment as if waiting for Dean to reply. He choked out a sad laugh and sighed, “I guess I haven’t.”

He listened to the rhythmic beeping of the machines that were keeping Dean alive and stared at the man’s face. “The first thing that made me love you was your eyes.” Castiel leaned back in the chair, hand still connected with Dean’s, and closed his eyes. In the darkness of his mind he could almost see Dean’s eyes. The moss color that was mixed with honey and something else that Castiel couldn’t put his finger on. 

“I remember seeing them for the first time during orientation. I don’t know if you remember and I never brought it up but you were in my group when they made us tour the campus.” He took a moment to clear his throat at the memory of a very young Dean Winchester with no scars on his face and no tubes that kept his heart beating, “You were very appealing from the start but when you happened to turn my direction and catch my eye... you seemed like...” Castiel struggled to find the correct words that made up his Dean. He knew that there were terms like hot or sexy that he could use but both seemed too vulgar and like they would degrade what he was saying. “Like an Adonis that graced our earth and just happened to spare a look my way. I don’t think you even knew my name at the time but just getting a small glance from you was nice.”

Castiel waited to hear Dean’s whiskey voice telling him that he should stop the chick-flick moments and kiss him but it never came. 

“The second thing was your smile.” Castiel flicked his eyes down to where Dean’s lips were in a chapped thin line. There was no hint of a smile. No hint of any emotion but the medicated sleep he was in. “Your smile was- is- beautiful. The way it makes the corners of your eyes crinkle even though you have no wrinkles. It makes your freckles stand out and even though you don’t like them they’re very cute.” Castiel thought Dean’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainy day. He thought that Dean’s smile could make everything better- even the worst situations could turn to the best. 

“Oh, Dean," Castiel sighed, finally letting the tears fall, “why won’t you open your eyes and smile for me?”

Castiel lifted Dean’s hand to his lips and kissed the soft skin, “Open your eyes and let me love you again.”

He waited, like the angels were going to hear his prayers and answer them. “Please?” but religion was never on his side.

* * *

Castiel didn’t realize he fell asleep. He remembered talking to Dean and praying to anyone listening that Dean would be okay and open his eyes. Now, though, the room was dark and he has a blanket draped over his shoulders. His hand still connected with Dean’s and Dean still living off the machines. He can see Sam asleep in another chair on the other side of the room with his head at an awkward angle and legs stretched out in front of him. 

He knows Sam must have been the one to cover him up and knows that Sam’s seen how he’s holding Dean’s hand like a life line. It’s almost ironic how much he needs the man laying in a coma like the man needs the machines. He needs Dean so much it’s petty and almost codependent. If Dean were to die he didn’t know what he would do. 

Dean’s his muse. The one that fits everything together and makes him want to pick up his paint brush. He’s the reason Castiel did so many things in college and actually went somewhere with his art during those years. Even though Dean’s also the reason he stopped all of his art making and stopped being creative, he forgives the man. He learned that forgiving and forgetting is something of a necessity to life- something that pushed things forward and made things move. 

Before he was bitter to Dean. Bitter and in love. When he saw him in his shop he didn’t think that they’d reconnect or that it was some act of God that was actually good for him. No. He thought that Dean was back in his life to ruin it and make him pine for the other man. He didn’t think that Dean would still share as much love for him as before. He didn’t think that Dean would have come out seven years ago and try to get ahold of him. He didn’t think anything except how bad it was to have Dean back in his life and now he sees how untrue that is.

Castiel pushed all thoughts of Dean dying out of his mind and held the man’s hand tighter. Dean is a force to be reckoned with. He’s not going to go down easy and Castiel knows that. If Death is going to come for his Dean then he’s going to have to get through him first.

* * *

Three weeks past and nothing changed with Dean. Sure the room got filled with more flowers from people that knew Dean and the station’s men occasionally stopping by to stand by his bed side and give him soft words of encouragement hoping that it would speed up the healing process- but that didn’t work. Castiel would know. He’s been trying that since the day he saw Dean. Along with the visitors and things in the room Dean himself has changed. 

The tan skin that Castiel knew so well was now a pasty, pale color. Nothing like he’s ever seen on Dean’s body and nothing he should have ever had to see on it either. His lips and cheeks lost their flush, eyes gaining dark circles under them, the muscles and small amount of baby fat that stayed on Dean’s body disappeared as time went by. His arms looking less than toned and cheeks slightly sinking in like he’s aged years over the few weeks that he’s been in the hospital. It’s a sight that Castiel never wants to see again. He just wants Dean to be his healthy self. Not a man hooked up to feeding tubes, and heart monitors because those are the only things that can make sure he’s alive right now. 

Doctor Tessa Messor explained to both he and Sam that it was up to Dean now. The doctors tried their best to find humane ways to get him out of his coma but Dean wouldn’t budge. For some reason he was keeping his own body in the woods. He wouldn’t let himself heal at the speed that they wanted him to be at, he wouldn’t react to any tests or talking anyone did with him, and he wasn’t waking up. 

“It’s like his soul isn’t with his body,” Doctor Messor explained. "He has to come back to himself before he can come back to us.”

* * *

Castiel stared down at his charcoal scratched page. He’d been drawing Dean for the last hour or so. The curves of his face, the feminine stretches of skin that he’s known intimately with lips and fingers. He’s drawn him from before. Before when Dean was full of youth; light in his eyes and a leg-weakening grin across his face. He drew Dean when his face was fallen with sadness. Fallen because his dad died in a car accident but couldn’t make the trip because flights to and from New York weren’t cheap and being a poor college student from a family not wealth ridden was hard. He drew his face from the day after. When his surrogate uncle called him and told him that he already bought plane tickets for him and Dean was so happy and grateful that he cried. 

He knows how to draw Dean from memory. Dean’s been his muse since before he can remember and always will be. Nothing can change that. Not life, not death, not even Dean having been away from him for seven years. 

Castiel dusted the charcoal off his hands and closed his sketchbook. It’s been weeks since Dean was last awake. _Weeks_. And all Castiel could do was sit there, hold Dean’s hand, and talk to him while trying to push the thought out of his mind that Dean wasn’t going to reply. He worked short hours at his shop; mostly the early mornings and sometimes at night when he needed to check stock and make some of the pastries that his employees couldn’t handle just yet. He had some of his more trusted employees to man the shop while he wasn’t there with promise of higher pay and more off time when all was done. 

He desperately hoped that when all was done that Dean would be alive and well. Not six feet under having a conversation with his family in Heaven.

* * *

Castiel looked up from his sketchbook and frowned, “What?” he could see the creases in Sam’s face where he was thinking too hard and as far as he knew there was nothing is this room that could make him think _that_ hard.

“You’re always in here.” Sam started, crossing his arms, “if you’re not here you’re at the cafe, and if you’re not there you’re in your apartment.”

Castiel put his pencil down and closed the book, “Is there a problem with me being here, Sam?”

Sam shook his head, “Not at all but you should leave more. Dean’s obviously not waking up anytime soon.”

“But I don’t want to leave him, and besides I have no reason to leave the room.”

“Cas,” Sam sighed getting up from his chair and walking across the room, “you need to go find something to do.” Castiel started to protest when Sam pulled him up by the elbow and pushed him to the door. With a flick of his wrist Sam opened the door and pushed him out, “Come back in an hour.”

The hospital was cold when he was forced out of Dean’s room to the point where goosebumps rose on his skin and the hair on his arms picked up like the hackles on a wild animal. He roughly rubbed his hands against the cool skin on his arms and walked down the hallway to the nearest elevator. He hadn’t left Dean’s room all too much in worry that while he was gone something would happen with Dean and he wouldn’t be there to talk Sam through it or see the smile on Dean’s worn face. So navigating the hospital on an elevator with no directory was like he was a blind man in a shopping mall. 

Castiel looked at the long columns of buttons and decided that nine looked the best to him. He pushed the button and leaned back against the railing of the elevator. He hoped to whatever god that was listening that he didn’t end up in the morgue and instead landed somewhere like the cafe (even though he knew that the cafe was on first floor from past experience). Castiel pushed himself off the wall when the elevator dinged open and hesitantly walked into the hallway. 

There was nothing that stood out to Castiel about the hallway. No signs that straight out told him where he was or if he was trespassing and breaking laws. He slowly walked down the quiet corridor and turned to the right where a big glass window was. At first he thought it was a case with an odd painting randomly placed in the walkway but upon closer inspection he found that it was actually a nursery. 

The room before him was filled with babies. Babies of all ethnicity and race bundled up in soft blankets and hats in pastel pinks and blues. They were all sleeping soundly; their eyes closed and slightly fluttering, little lips parted with soft breaths, and seemingly unaware of the world around them. He leaned on the railing and sighed—how he longed for a child of his own. A little one that he could hold in his arms, bounce and hush to sleep with soft words and promises of a good life. 

“Is one of them yours?”

Castiel jumped back from the window at the sound of a woman talking to him. For a moment he thought it was going to be a nurse or doctor reprimanding him for looking at babies that weren’t his but when he turned to the voice he saw it was a woman instead. She was wearing a hospital gown with a matching fluffy robe and slipper set. Beside her was an IV pole with a simple drip bag that she was clutching like her personal cane. 

Realizing he hadn’t answered her question Castiel shook his head, “I—uh, no.”

The lady hummed and looked into the room. Her eyes glossed over with love and care for the baby he assumed was sleeping in one of the cradles before him. She dragged her eyes away from the room and looked at him directly, “Do you ever want a baby?”

Castiel rolled his lips between his teeth and nodded. He’s always wanted to have kids. In high school when they were put up to the task of taking care of their own flour baby made him realize how much. The bag of flour was something he protected with a fierceness that wasn’t usually seen in a teenaged boy. He made sure it was safe, made sure that it lost little to no flour, and made sure it wasn’t touched by anyone other than himself and his health teacher. From then on he knew that having a baby was something that he needed in his life—something that would make him feel complete and whole. 

And the first time he saw Dean holding a baby set that in stone. 

_Dean held the bundle in his arms like it was the most important thing in the world. His eyes a glittery green in the yellow nursery as he looked up at the mobile with little sail boats, rocking slowly in the chair and humming softly under his breath._

_Castiel watched him from the door jamb, a warm bottle of milk in his hands and a towel draped over his shoulder. Dean looked so at peace with a baby in his arms—like he was made to protect and home the small infants—and Castiel wanted to wrap himself up in this false domesticity and stay here forever. But soon baby Charlotte’s parents would be home and they’d have to hand the soft bundle over with smiles on their faces and no longing in their hearts because all they were doing was babysitting for one of Castiel’s professors and nothing more._

_Castiel pushed himself off the jamb and walked into the nursery, switching the bottle over between both of his hands. “How is she?” he asked, voice hushed and quiet._

_Dean smiled up at him from his spot, “Actin’ like an angel of course.” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His voice was soft when he spoke, “I wish this was our nursery and our kid. Not your profs’ but ours.”_

_Castiel felt his heart flutter in his chest. He and Dean were going on two years now. Still in secret but going strong nonetheless. He never told Dean about his longing for a child that started in high school because he feared that Dean would think he was crazy and run off. Instead, though, Dean was the one telling him about how he wanted them to have a child—not only that, but how he thought they were going to be in it for the long run and not just a few more months. That one day they were going to adopt a beautiful baby, have a house, and be together bound by more things than one._

_Instead of telling Dean about his baby-filled longing he rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder and sighed, “Maybe one day we’ll have all this.”_

_Dean opened one eye, “Yeah?”_

_Castiel nodded and set the bottle on Dean’s lap so he could instead pat Charlotte’s back softly, “Our own little Charlotte.”_

_“Can the nursery be a pretty blue though?”_

_“Blue?” Castiel asked amused with the fact that Dean was already thinking about nursery colors._

_Dean nodded, “Yeah, like that robin’s egg you use.”_

_“Maybe a little paler. It’s quite a bright blue.”_

_“I think any color would be nice ‘cause you’d be the one helping me pick it, Cas.”_

_Castiel smiled and leaned down to peck Dean’s lips. He wouldn’t be opposed to any color nursery or baby if it involved Dean being with him. They’d raise the child together and make the best of everything because that’s what they always did. He could see both of them teaching their child the ways of art in both of their specialties. Castiel’s being paint and drawing while Dean had his woodwork and sculpture. He could see them spending lazy Sundays with their child between them because the each couldn’t get enough of it. He could see it happening and wanted it to happen more than anything._

“A child is something that I’ve wanted since before I knew about the reproductive system,” he said, looking through the window at all the sleeping babies, “but unfortunately with my type of.. _wiring_ I can’t have one on my own.”

“Then how are you going to do it? Adoption?”

Castiel nodded, “That’s my only option.”

The lady was quiet for a moment. He thought he scared her off with his sort of admittance that he was gay but she spoke before he could do anything about his assumption, “How are you going to do it alone? I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

Castiel looked down at his bare fingers and gave them a sad smile, “The reason I’m at this hospital is because the man I love is in a coma... he hasn’t been awake for a few weeks nor does he know that I love him—and have.” Castiel swallowed back the lump in his throat and sucked in a breath. He’s been holding himself together. Keeping himself calm and almost emotionless for the sake of Sam and anyone visiting. He hasn’t cried since the first time he saw Dean in his comatose state and now the thought of him- them- with child is making him emotional. Pathetic. 

The lady made a humming noise and leaned on the plastic railing in front of the window, “I’m assuming that’s not the whole story.”

He shook his head, ”That’s the main idea of the story but nowhere near the whole explanation.”

“I have time,” she said. “Tell me.”

“You would really like to listen to four years of angst and seven years of longing?”

“Like I said, I have time.”

Castiel told her everything. From their first meeting to their last. How they were two clueless art majors with no idea of what they were going to do after NYU but decided to live life to the most that they could. He told her about their relationship and how he was the one that broke it off because he thought that Dean would never love _them_ but knew that Dean would still love him. He told her through tears and lumps in his throat that he still loved Dean so much that it hurt in situations like now. He told her how he still loved Dean and Dean could die not knowing that he did because he’d been stupid. 

By the end of his talking he was in tears. More tears than he’d ever thought he’d shed and more heartbreak than the weeks after he left Dean. Halfway through his talking the lady pulled him into her arms and let him babble on her shoulder with tears staining her robe and his hands shaking because he didn’t know what to do. He felt so pathetic and stupid. For leaving Dean when he did, for never giving Dean a chance to explain himself, for ignoring Dean when he went into the shop, for it having to come to Dean being in a coma for him to realize the love that they both had for each other. It was idiotic and something that he didn’t want to feel. He knew that nothing was his fault and that everything happens for a reason but why did Dean have to end up in the hospital? Why did Dean have to be the one hurt in a way that the doctors didn’t know how to help with? 

The lady rubbed his back and murmured, “You’re in my prayers tonight.”

Castiel pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Thank you, sorry for the crying.”

She shook her head, “It’s no problem. We all have emotions and we all need to let them out.” She lightly placed her hand on his arms, “But God has a plan and will take care of you. Just know that.”

“Is there...” he paused taking in a deep breath, “...is there a chapel here?”

The lady nodded. “First floor.”

“Thank you,” he said taking a step back, “I hope all goes well for you.”

The lady smiled and nodded. She leaned against the window and gave him another nod to go forward. He took the dismissal and left. 

When he got in the elevator he realized—he never asked her if she had a child.

* * *

The church was quiet when he entered it. The type of silence he related to his childhood home and the stern stares of his mother. Nobody else was in the small room but him, rows of empty pews, stained glass depicting Gabriel coming down to Mary, candles burning under a crucified Jesus, and the smell of holy water.

He sat himself down on one of the pews, a bible rested on the seat calling his name. He picked up the worn book- pages bent and frayed from use- and rested his hands on the cover. It had been so long since he opened a bible. So long since he’d been religious. 

His religion was stripped from him like roof over his head was. Taken away without warning and left something in him that was filled with black hate and sorrow. After he was kicked out of home he always saw religion as something bad. A corrupted force that only brought death and hate to the world. Not love and joy like was said. Not brightness and light like promised behind stiff smiles and words that were made by man. And now here he was. Bible in his lap and floods of verses and hymns rushing through his head like someone cracked the wall of a dam. 

_”Castiel, have you memorized the rosary yet?”_

_Castiel looked up at his mom from where he was kneeling before the pew, his Sunday best tight against his skin and rosary gripped tight in his hand. He looked down at the switch she held between her immaculate fingers and tensed his body. “Not completely, Mother.”_

_She hummed and nodded to him, “I want to hear you. Start over.”_

_“Yes, Mother.” He looked down at the blue rosary beads in his hand and sighed. He made the sign of the cross on his body and licked his lips, “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.” He rubbed the cross between his fingers and went on, “He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. Amen.”_

_He looked up at his mother and at her stern nod he went on, he moved his fingers to the bead above the cross, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. Amen.”_

_“Keep going, Castiel.”_

_He moved the third bead above the cross, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” he inhaled, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”_

_“Do not stop, Castiel.”_

_He moved his fingers up the rosary and stopped at the chain piece above the fourth bead and below the fifth, “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”_

_He paused and moved the fifth bead willing his brain to remember the First Mystery, willing himself to please his mother._

_He looked up at his mother and shook his head, “I do not remember.”_

_She let out an exasperated sigh and moved forward, “Hands out before you, Castiel.”_

Castiel pulled out the bench pew and set the bible to his side. He didn’t need a bible to pray. Not in the sense that his prayers without an actual prayer would be sufficient but that he knew almost the whole bible. He knew what prayers to say depending on the situation and he knew how to do it off the top of his head. Having religion stuffed down your throat as a child did that to you. 

He slowly kneeled down on the bench and brought his elbows onto the pew before him, resting his forehead on them and sighing. It had been a long time since he kneeled before the eyes of God. He cleared his throat and started, “Most merciful Jesus, lover of souls, I pray you by the agony of your most sacred heart, and by the sorrows of your Immaculate mother, to wash in your most Precious Blood the sinners of the world who are now in their agony, and who will die today. Heart of Jesus, once in agony, have mercy on the dying. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I give you my heart and my soul. Assist me in my last agony, and grant that I may breath forth my soul in peace with you. Amen...”

* * *

It was three days later when Dean woke up from his coma. 

Castiel was out praying in the chapel for what seemed like the billionth time when Sam sent him a text with two words that he’d been wanting to for weeks:

_Dean’s Awake._


	4. Intermission

The room was filling with light when Dean opened his eyes. The kind of light he connected with the early hours of the morning, blueish but still bright. Like the sun was only just breaking through the night sky and was just waking up itself. He stretched his body on the bed, back arching and a loud groan pushing out of his lips like he’d been sleeping for weeks. Dean looked to his side and smiled at the sight before him.

Cas was still sleeping, his face pushed into a pillow, hair going everywhere, and blanket down to the curve of his ass—all in all, he looked like how he normally did every morning. 

Dean being the five year old that he is poked Cas in the side. He smirked at the little jolt Cas gave and continued with the poking, trying to wake Cas up because being awake while his boyfriend wasn’t was just boring. 

“Cas,” Dean whined, “wake up. I’m bored.”

Castiel groaned and pushed his face further into the pillow, “I am asleep Dean.”

Dean snorted and resorted to rolling over and laying himself on top of the other man, “Well, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up. You’re wasting daylight.”

“You’re the one that needs to wake up,” Castiel muttered, moving himself back into the warmth that is Dean. 

Dean frowned, “What do you mean? I am awake.”

“No you’re not. This is a dream, Dean.” 

Dean rolled his eyes, “Are you drunk?” He knew Cas wasn’t a lightweight but this was going too far.

“No.”

“Having a psychological moment?”

“No, Dean.”

“Then why are you telling me to wake up?”

Castiel sighed roughly and pushed Dean off him, rolling over to look at Dean in the eyes, “Because this is a dream. You are asleep. I. Am. Not. Real.”

“What?” Dean didn’t understand. How was he not awake? This was his room, he _knew _this room.__

__Castiel gave him a look and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Wake up.”_ _


	5. Act 4:Dean Awake

“He’s awake?” Castiel panted, out of breath from all the running he did to get back to the room. 

Sam nodded and looked at the floor, “Yeah.. but.. there’s been complications?”

Castiel frowned and looked between Sam and Doctor Messor, “Complications?”

The doctor sighed and flipped through her chart, “He’s having some temporary memory loss.” She rose her hand up and cut Castiel off when he opened his mouth to speak, “It’s common for coma patients. Just give him time and he’ll gain his memories back.”

“How much does he not remember?” The words ‘he might not remember you’ lurked in a deep place in his mind. A deep place he didn’t want to delve into. 

“We don’t know for sure since it’s going to be scattered. He knows who he is and how he got here but the rest has to come back to him on his own terms.”

“Wait,” Sam said cutting off the doctor, “we can’t tell him anything?”

Doctor Messor pursed her lips and looked at the room door, “Who you are, yes. What the day is, maybe. Correcting him on something he doesn’t remember or isn’t right, no. If you do that there’s a high possibility for him to go into shock and never wake up from the coma that follows.”

“So we have to act like he’s a ticking time bomb until he’s settled?”

Doctor Messor nodded. “Yes.”

* * *

“Who should go in first?”

Castiel looked over at Sam and took a step back, “It should be you. You’re his brother.”

“But you’re his lover.”

“What?!” Castiel shook his head and crossed his arms. “I was his lover seven years ago.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “So you’re telling me you don’t love him?”

“I’m telling you that in order to be his lover the love has to be mutual and it has to involve some form of intimacy.” 

“How about we go in at the same time?” Sam reasoned. 

Castiel looked up at him and sighed, nodding reluctantly. It’s not that he he doesn’t want to see Dean it’s that he’s not sure if Dean will hate him- remember him. He just knows he loves Dean and if Dean asks him to leave and never see him again he’ll do it. It’ll break his heart but it’s for Dean and he’d do anything for Dean.

* * *

Castiel gave himself five seconds of waiting outside Dean’s room before walking through the cracked door. He heard the lovely, yet tired, voice of Dean and sighed happily. How he missed that voice. 

“Hello, Dean,” he said quietly, hovering at the entrance so if Dean told him to leave he would. 

Dean looked over at him, eyes green and happy, a tired smile on his face. He stretched his hand out to Castiel and rested his head back on his pillow, “Hey, sweetheart.”

Castiel felt a sharp stab in his stomach. 

Dean thought they were still together. He didn’t remember the break up. 

It was a bittersweet story that Castiel wanted to lose himself in because it meant he could have Dean again. He could hold his hand, kiss his face, _love_ him, and most of all resolve their departure that should never have happened in the first place but did because Castiel tired of being a secret. 

Now it’s back to the dance of ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’ they used to do. Little pet names that held a lot more value than saying ‘I love you’ because those three words were overused and impersonal at times. Honey and Sweetheart meant more to Castiel than any two words ever could. It was something only he and Dean used for each other while they were dating because they could say it sarcastically in front of their friends and everything would roll over okay but they both knew that it had a deeper meaning. 

And now he has to go back to that. It almost seemed like a joke to him. A sick joke played by a God he prayed to even though he told himself years ago that he was never going to pray to a God that didn’t help him when he was in need. But Dean needs this right now. He needs to know that he’s loved and that he doesn’t have memory loss. He needs Castiel to be his ‘sweetheart’ and for Dean to be Castiel’s ‘honey’- and Castiel was okay with playing the part. He missed Dean and now he can love him again until the man gets his memories back and remembers all the heartache Castiel put him through. 

Castiel fell into the act easily. He took the few steps and lightly held Dean’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips so he could place a delicate kiss on the knuckles, “Hi, honey.”

Dean hummed happily. “Missed you while I was out. Kept dreamin’ of your pretty blues and your smile,” Dean said with a slight slur, “I heard your voice when I was dreamin’ it was nice.” Dean looked up at Castiel and gave him a sleepy smile, “Think it was what made me fight—ya’ know like...” Dean leaned back in the bed and sighed, eyelids fluttering, “...like what made me want to wake up and... and live.” 

Castiel felt a lump form in his throat. Dean basically told him that the reason he’s alive is because of him. That his voice was like the man’s saving grace. He didn’t know how to handle that. How to grasp the fact that Dean thought the only reason he was alive was because of Cas’ voice. 

“Hey.. Cas?”

Castiel looked down at Dean and gave him watery smile, “Yes, Dean?”

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Dean.” He watched the man before him fall back to sleep. He had a spark of fear rise up in his chest from the look of Dean’s closed eyes. He was so used to seeing Dean in a coma that seeing him asleep put a fear like no other in him. Because now the thought of Dean not waking up, staying in a comatose state forever, was real. It could happen to anyone, and he witnessed that first hand. 

“What was that?”

Castiel looked over to where Sam was, he’d forgotten he was there, “I don’t know. I believe he doesn’t remember the breakup.”

Sam rose an eyebrow. “And you’re okay with that? With playing the part of Dean’s boyfriend?”

He looked away from Sam and down at the sleeping Dean. Face still pale but a light flush coming back into his cheeks, “I—It’s a part I want to be. I want to be his actual boyfriend and if this is as close as I can get to that then this is what i’m going to do. If he hates me after...” Castiel shook his head and shrugged, “If he hates me after then I will have to understand.”

Sam sighed roughly and pushed a hand through his hair, “I just hate seeing both of you living a lie because then both of you might end up hurt. And that’s something I don’t want.”

Castiel knew where Sam was coming from. He could understand the protectiveness; Dean being Sam’s brother and Castiel being a close friend—best friend even. He didn’t want anything to end up badly either, he didn’t want Dean to wake up one day and remember the break up. He didn’t want Dean to relive the heartbreak, the empty ache, the feeling of total loss. The void they both had in their hearts because of miscommunication and lack _of_ communication. 

So Castiel understood, he could already feel a chasm starting in his heart, “I know. I don’t want either of us to be hurt but this is what he needs and I’m willing to sacrifice myself for him.”

* * *

After the first day of Dean being awake, he was thrown into tests. Scans on his brain, physical and mental therapy. It was a flurry of doctors coming in and out of the room, most of them giving he and Sam polite smiles while they took Dean for the next test, took more blood from him- multiple things that were adding up and making Dean frustrated and tired. 

The only good thing about Dean being pulled away for most of the day was that he didn’t have to act like he was Dean’s boyfriend. He didn’t have to hold Dean’s hand, give him the occasional kiss and hug. As much as he loves doing those things—because he misses the intimacy of being with Dean—he hates having Dean believe a lie. He feels guilty that Dean’s not back to his senses and submits himself to something from the past. Something that Castiel misses but something that shouldn’t have been initiated without both of them completely present in mindset.

* * *

A few days after Dean woke from his coma he was released into Castiel and Sam’s care. Since Sam homed himself at the hospital and Dean’s home was at the fire station Castiel opened his home to them. He wasn’t too sure how Dean was going to feel with the transition from the hospital to his home because Dean hadn’t gained the memory of their breakup back and had never seen Cas’ apartment. He didn’t know if it was going to jog any of Dean’s memories or if he was going to have to lie through his teeth about why Dean had never seen his home before.

* * *

While they were waiting for the release forms Doctor Messor came in, holding multiple sheets of paper in her hands and a slight smile on her face.

“These are the medications he needs to take twice a day until they’re finished,” She said, handing Castiel three of the slips, “These are his pain pills. He’s to take them when the pain’s at it’s worst and if he has a dull ache give him some ibuprofin.” She gave him another slip, “And these are the dates he needs to come back to get his cast off and for some follow up tests.” 

Castiel took the last slip and nodded, “What about the physical therapy after he gets his cast off?” 

“I can send someone to help him with that or he can come here, but that’s not for a few more weeks.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh, “and his memories?”

She gave him a small smile and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “All in due time, Castiel.”

* * *

Sam ended up driving them home. 

Castiel was in the backseat with Dean. Letting the man lean against him while Sam drove them through the thick New York traffic. He could tell Dean was in pain. The way he was groaning with each bump they hit, the way his jaw was clenching and unclenching as they moved, the tenseness in his muscles. Everything. 

He himself hurt for Dean. He wanted Dean to feel fine, to remember everything he once did. He wanted Dean to not have a broken leg, cracked ribs, burns along his face, and a memory with such imperfections that he couldn’t remember their break up. 

Castiel took Dean’s hand and laced their fingers together, he leaned his head down on Dean’s and sighed. He just wanted everything to be better. Even if that meant them dancing around each other at the cafe, both of them too afraid to say anything—like their relationship could mess up more than it already was—and Castiel not wanting to give Dean the light of day because he was scared of being hurt again. 

He’d do anything to get Dean out of the pain he was feeling. 

He’d walk to the ends of the earth with his feet bare and the weight of all things living on his back. He would fight against all odds for Dean. He’d do anything to have Dean not hurt but all he could do was hold his hand, tell him that he loved him, give him the warmth and care that he could because he’s just a man. Just a human that has little influence on the world. He’s just Castiel and all he can give is himself.

* * *

Getting Dean up the stairs was a bit of a problem. 

The man was still drowsy and—drugged up? Loopy?—Castiel couldn’t explain how Dean was at the moment. His system was filled with medications from the hospital making the man unable to do things he usually could. For example Dean was heavily leaning on Sam while both he and Sam tried getting them man up the stairs with the large green cast on his leg. He was slightly swaying from side to side, eyes heavy with want for sleep, and little frown on his face that Castiel knew was from the pain of trying to get up the short flight of stairs. 

Castiel quickly unlocked the door to his apartment and let Sam and Dean in, “You can make yourself at home, Sam. I’m sorry but you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

Sam nodded, “That’s okay, and Dean?” he asked, raising an eye brow. 

Castiel gently took Dean by the arm. “With me of course.”

“Yeah,” Dean slurred, “gonna’ sleep in my bed where I shoulda’ been this whole time.”

Castiel nodded and slowly steered Dean to his bedroom. 

He was unsure how Dean’s memory was going to take to seeing a new place. Dean’s never seen his apartment, he’s never seen the bed where he thinks he should have been instead of the hospital. Everything about his apartment is new territory for Dean. He hardly has anything from college because he didn’t want to keep hurting. 

He has nothing to ground Dean but himself. 

He knew Sam was worried about both he and Dean. Him because he was putting himself in a situation that he never thought he’d have to be in and feels guilty for playing the part because how _good_ it feels to be with the man again. Dean because he wasn’t in his right frame of mind and was putting himself up to something that he might not want. 

Castiel could see where Sam was coming from—he understood—but he needed Sam to trust him when he said that everything was going to be okay. He was giving Dean the comfort that he needed and let himself indulge in the process. He didn’t know if he’d be able to jump back to normal if Dean hated him again and he didn’t know if Dean was ever going to be okay. He just knew he was doing what he could. 

“Would you like to shower or just sleep?” Castiel asked Dean, his hand lightly curling around his shoulder to steady him. 

Dean hummed softly, eyes heavy and slightly swaying. “Can I jus’ sleep? ‘M tired.”

“Of course,” he walked Dean to the door jamb and stopped, “lean against the wall for a moment.” He waited until Dean was stable before slowly moving away to get the bed ready. His bed was still done from the last time he made it- a day which he couldn’t remember because his mind was a blur of hospital hallways and making sure the cafe was still standing- and he remembered from the days when he and Dean lived together that Dean could not sleep on a made bed. He went to the left side of the bed—Dean’s side and always will be—and untucked the covers, pulling them out before throwing one of the two pillows off the bed. He gave the bed a once over and went to Dean’s side, taking his hand and steering him to the bed. 

“Are you comfortable in what you’re wearing?”, Castiel asked, giving Dean a once over. The man was currently dressed in clothes the hospital supplied: baggy shorts that fit over his cast and a white scrub top.

Dean gave him a shaky nod before moving himself down on the bed and snuggling up in the blankets, cast and all. Castiel pulled the rest of the sheets over Dean and flicked the light off. He paused at the door, looking back at Dean in his bed like he belonged there, before turning to make his way out. 

“Cas?”

Castiel paused at the door and turned back around, “Yes, Dean?”

“Stay please? I haven’t held you in weeks,” Dean pleaded, eyes drooping but still open.

Castiel felt a lump form in his throat- it’s been years since Dean’s held him. Years since he'd felt Dean’s strong chest against his and could move into the warmth that radiated off the other man. It’s been years and Dean doesn’t remember. 

Castiel nodded more to himself than Dean, he closed the bedroom door and slipped his pants off before sliding into bed. He formed himself to Dean’s body, his head resting on the other man’s chest- careful not to hurt his ribs- and Dean’s arms around him. 

“Missed this,” Dean said, his breath lightly brushing against Castiel’s ear.

Castiel nodded. He picked up one of Dean’s hands and laced their fingers together; Dean’s rough and calloused resting on his. It felt so odd to be with Dean again. Not in a bad way but in a way that was comforting and familiar. That was so natural to him. It felt like how it did in college. Both of them in bed, not thinking about any upcoming bills or assignments, but thinking about each other. 

He felt Dean move below him and settle more comfortably in the bed. His chest now falling at a steady rhythm that was heavy with sleep and soothing to Castiel’s body. He felt like he was resting on a wave with no water. The steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest lulling him to sleep with promises that he’ll still be there in the morning.

* * *

It lasted a week. 

Castiel woke up to a dark room and an uneasy chill surrounding him. He reached in front of him for the mass that he knew was Dean and tugged on his arm, “Come back here Dean.”

“I forced you into something you don’t want,” Dean said, his voice thick and cracking. 

Castiel frowned, “What are you talking about?” His brain was foggy with remnants of sleep and he had no clue what Dean was talking about. He had never been forced into anything- not recently at least. 

“I—” Dean let out a rough sigh, “I made you be my boyfriend. I made you love me. I—I remember Cas. I remember now.”

It felt like a weight crashed down on Castiel _Dean remembers_. Dean is _Dean_ again. Castiel doesn’t have to tip-toe around anything anymore. He can say what he wants to now, he can make Dean feel good without having to feel guilty because of it. But Dean was under the impression that he wasn’t loved, that he was in a false relationship, and none of that was right. Castiel loves Dean, he loves him more than anything. He doesn’t think he’d be able to live without the man in his bed, he doesn’t think he’d be able to recover if Dean started to hate him because of how he broke it off between them in college. 

With shaky hands Castiel gripped Dean on his shoulder, “Dean, you never made me do anything I didn’t want to do,” Castiel said softly, his thumb moving up and down, “This whole time when you didn’t... _remember_... I felt guilty. I felt that when you did remember you’d realize that what I put you through was horrible-”

“No! No, Cas,” Dean said with a broken voice, he rolled over as smoothly as he could with a brace on his leg, took Castiel’s face in his hands, and pressed their foreheads together, “What I did to you—to us—making us be something we weren’t—” Dean shook his head and tightly closed his eyes, “That wasn’t right. You should hate me. You should have made me stay at the firehouse, you should have ignored me all those days in the cafe.” Dean paused and licked his lips, like it pained him to speak. “You should hate me,” he repeated, “I’m nothing but poison in your veins.”

“But you’re not,” Castiel whispered, he brushed his lips softly against Dean’s and sighed, “You’re not poison, you’re my muse. My Honey. My love.” 

“I’m the person who pretended to be straight and made you hide in the closet with me.”

Castiel rolled his lips between his teeth and nodded. “Yes, you did make me do that.” He remembered having to hide their hands under the table with a napkin over them so people wouldn’t see that they were on a date, he remembered having to lie to his friends and say that there was nobody but he was happy being alone, he remembers all the lies and all the hurting, all the people that would hit on Dean because they thought he was single and a free agent when instead he was in love with someone he couldn’t bear to be seen with. Castiel remembers. 

He remembers but he’s forgiven. 

He’s forgiven that Dean wasn’t able to handle them in college, handle what they were until he lost him. He’s forgiven Dean and Dean needs to forgive himself too. “But I forgive you, Dean. I remember everything you put me through, all the lies and hiding—but I love you too much to hold something from seven years ago against you. Okay, Dean?”

“But—but I hurt you, Cas. I hurt you and you shouldn’t love me—hell you shouldn’t have even talked to me at the cafe or—or sat by my hospital bed. You should have found yourself some nice guy who could make you feel good.” Dean’s lips quivered as he spoke, tears threatening to spill. “You should hate me and leave me. Find someone who’s better for you,” Dean repeated. 

Castiel shushed Dean lightly, “I love you. You make me feel good. You make me want to go back into painting, you make me want to _feel_.”

Dean opened his eyes and sniffed, “You stopped painting?”

Castiel nodded.

“Why?”

Castiel gave Dean a sad smile, “You were my muse. You _are_ my muse. I can’t paint without thinking of you. You make everything better.” Castiel stroked the side of Dean’s face with his thumbs. “Tell me Dean, why are you a firefighter? Why aren’t you a sculptor or a carpenter?”

Dean huffed out a laugh and leaned into Castiel’s hands. “‘Cause you’re my muse too, Sweetheart.”

“See. We’re made for each other.” Castiel kissed Dean softly and pulled back before Dean could reciprocate. “Through thick and thin.”

Dean snorted, “Through me almost dying.”

“Yes,” Castiel said smiling, “through that too..” he paused and licked his lips, eyes no longer looking into Dean’s. “I was afraid I had lost you. That I wasn’t going to be able to tell you that I love you and missed you and wanted you back with me. That I was going to regret all the times at the cafe when I didn’t talk to you.” Castiel looked away from Dean when he felt a tear slip from his eye.

“But I’m here, Cas. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” Dean brought his hands up to Castiel’s face and wiped the tear away. “I’m not going to leave you ever again.”

“And I won’t leave you,” Castiel whispered with a hoarse voice, “Stay with me forever?”

Dean smiled. “You proposing to me, Cas?”

Castiel smiled, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. “Maybe... would you say yes if I was?”

Dean shrugged. “Gotta’ propose to me like a proper man would.”

“And then you’d say yes?”

Dean winked at him. “Guess you’re gonna’ have to wait to find out, huh?”

Castiel bit his lip, “I guess I may have to.”

“Kiss me?” 

Castiel cupped Dean’s face with his hands, softer than before—no pressure for Dean to look at him, no pressing conversations that he knew they were going to have to have later—now it was just kissing. Just the touch of their lips, maybe some tongue if Dean was still like he was in college. Castiel leaned forward, their noses brushing, green eyes boring into blue, and pressed their lips together. 

It was a simple kiss. The kind that one would get in high school when both parties were unsure of what to do. The kind of kiss that was so chaste it was like a breath of air touching down instead of another person. It was the kind of kiss that was unsure but loving at the same time. One that held longing memories and want greater than anything. 

Castiel pulled back and smiled. Dean was here to stay. He wasn’t in the hospital where every second seemed like it could be his last, he wasn’t at the fire station where he could be called out any day to put out a fire, and he wasn’t drifting alone somewhere. He was here. In Castiel’s home, in Castiel’s bed, In Castiel’s arms. 

And everything’s okay.


	6. Epilogue

_Two Months Later_

Castiel sighed roughly and smoothed out his tie, ignoring the fact that it was backwards, and trying to steady his breath. “What if he says no, Sam?”

Sam rolled his eyes and made a ‘come here’ motion with his hand. “We all know he loves you and you guys are like soulmates or something.” He undid Castiel’s tie and flipped it the right way before tying it. “He’s going to say yes and you know it.”

“But—”

“No! Cas, he’s waiting for you in the living room thinking who-knows-what. Now go!” Sam said giving him a small push on his shoulder. “Go and make me your legal brother-in-law.”

Castiel let out an unsteady breath and nodded, “Okay, wish me luck.” He pushed his bedroom door open and walked out to Dean, the ring burning a hole in his pant pocket, and thoughts of Dean saying no running through his head. 

Dean was standing by the door when he got into the living room. One hand holding onto the cane his doctors told him to walk with after the brace came off his leg and the other casually in the pocket of his jacket. Dean’s burns healed beautifully, not much scarring except for where the skin puffed out around the edges of his face. His ribs made a complete recovery and he had a slight problem with remembering some things from early in his childhood but the doctor said that was normal. 

All in all he was okay. 

Castiel was glad on the day Dean told him that even if his leg made a proper recovery he wasn’t going back to the station. Now Dean had a job at the cafe and did some woodworking commissions here and there. After they talked over where they stood in their relationship it was decided that Dean’s home was now with Castiel and Sam was even thinking about moving to New York when he graduated. 

The only thing Castiel could ask for now to make it perfect would be Dean’s hand in marriage; and that’s what he’s going to do tonight. 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Dean said, smiling and looking Castiel up and down appreciatively.

Castiel smiled and stretched out his hand to Dean, “Hello, Honey. Ready to go?”

Dean winked. “Ready as ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to make a shout -out to the people who stuck with me from beginning to end (pretty much) on this ride of a DCBB: [Chib](http://chibighostie.tumblr.com/) who was my first legit beta, [Cassie](http://sunshinexlollipops.tumblr.com/) who was there when the fic was only just an idea, [Jamie](http://kierenn.co.vu/) who made that awesome DCBB chatroom and left little comments on my fic's doc, [Cee](http://ceeainthereforthat.tumblr.com/) who helped with the more techinal writing stuff, and [Michi](http://freetobeyouandmichi-me.tumblr.com/), who helped me do the final run through on this fic c: 
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Tumblr](http://winterxoldier.tumblr.com/)


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